The Dark Forest
by glindalovesshoes
Summary: "A man is lying on the sheep's wool, unconscious, bleeding. His face looks as pale as the white wool, which is already drowned in blood from the wounds on his body. The shaft of an arrow is sticking out of his shoulder, the shirt he is wearing ripped and soaked in blood. Regina bites her lip before she makes a decision. What does she have to lose?" OQ AU


This is my OQ Valentines gift for my wife and love FraiseDandelion! She's amazing. She's such a wonderful friend, always there for me and makes me talk to her when I don't want to. She gives the best advise and hope speeches Snow White would be jealous of. She's funny, caring and sweet, and, well my toffifee mushi. I cant imagine a world without her. I love you Miles!

This is the beginning of an Anastasia inspired OQ AU! I hope you all enjoy!

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The Dark Forest

The horse drags the cart along the muddy road away from the town, toward the small path that leads up to the convent of the sisters of the Sacred Heart. It is secluded and hidden away from prying eyes, on holy lands nobody who doesn't have a business there dares to touch. The sun is going down already, perks of it being so close to fall and Wilma knows Mother Superior will scold her for taking so long to bring the wheat from the last crop to the miller in town, and pick up the wool from the shepherd's cottage in return. But it's not her fault, really. The continuing rain from the past few days has softened up the road, making it hard for her horse to drag the heavy cart when it gets stuck every few hundred meters.

Wilma knows she would have been on time if it hadn't been for David's mother who is lying in bed, sick with pneumonia. In an attempt to save the sheep's wool for the next shearing from any damage, she'd spent hours outside in the rain. Poor Ruth. David begged her to stay and do something and while Wilma knows she will be paying the price later, she couldn't let her only friend down so she'd stayed, helping Ruth with a herb paste and a broth she'd conjured from chicken bones and vegetables. Ruth thanked her with a hand knit scarf out of dyed purple wool from Regina's favorite sheep, knowing full well she couldn't keep it. They're not allowed any personal possessions at the convent, but Ruth has made her take it, thanking her for taking care of her, blessing her healing hands. And if Wilma is honest to herself, Ruth did look much better when she left rather than before she arrived. Hopefully, Ruth will make it through. She'd hate for David to lose his mother and for her to lose the only thing coming close to a mother she's ever known. That's why she helps those in need and sickness.

The weather does that to people, especially this close to fall and soon when the November rains will hit, the convent would be overflowing with the townsfolk, asking for the help of the nuns. It's a drill if she's ever seen one, all she can remember ever since she came here. They would take in the most promising cases, the cases where there is a chance the patient could be healed and the convent could collect the money from the family - or if they couldn't pay, they would become bondsmen, a state of dependence Wilma knew Mother Superior enjoyed the most.

The others are turned down, much to Wilma 's dismay. It's true, they can't help everyone but they could at least try, this is why whenever she could, she would spend some time in the village, visiting the poor people who couldn't pay for the convent's help or who were already the bondsman of another lord. Ever since she can remember, Wilma has had a way with healing people. David calls it "magic", but she possibly just knows her way around the most effective combinations of herbs, berries and roots. She knows how to heal and appease pain, but can also list all plants that can burn, poison and hurt a human's body in impeccable ways. It's a knowledge she shouldn't have and knowledge she won't ever share with anyone because she's not here to inflict harm. She's here to heal, to help. But how much help will she be when Mother Superior forces her to be abstinent for a week because she didn't make it in time for the evening mass?

Her gaze falls on the darkening clouds in the sky. It would start raining again soon, at any given moment now. She has to hurry up - not just for her, but also for the wool on the back of her cart. If it gets wet in the state it is in now, the wool will felt, making it impossible to dye and spin it properly. Thankfully, she's already reached the edge of the Dark Forest, a place they were all told to avoid. A forest which is dark even throughout the day, with trees and branches sticking so close together they won't let any daylight inside. It's a bad place, full of cruel creatures and what the village calls the scum of humanity. Monsters, outcasts, with one eye and three arms, ogres, trolls… Not a place for a young woman to drive through. Not in daylight, when everything is said to be sleeping and certainly not at night. It looks even scarier with the thunderstorm darkened sky and the breaking in of the night. However David has shown her a shortcut to the convent once, which would probably help her to make good of at least half an hour instead of taking the road around it.

Wilma doesn't really fear the creatures that are said to be in there, but she definitely fears Mother Superior's wrath for wet wool and missing masses. So Wilma steers the nervous horse toward the path through the Dark Forest, which parts at the lonely meadow. When David had shown her the path for the first time, it hadn't looked as dark and scary. He takes it frequently however, so it can't be that bad, right? She touches the golden tree necklace around her neck, sending a short prayer to heaven to ask for protection. It's the only possession she has, the only thing that has always been hers ever since she can remember and well, she doesn't have any memories from before the age of nine when she woke up in a bed in the convent with nothing but a headache. Wilma sighs deeply, pushing the thoughts about her past in the back of her head. It doesn't matter who she was… _before_.

The horse reluctantly moves forward, its ears twitching and its tail swinging nervously. The path in front of her is barely lit but looks frequently used, which surprises and makes her uncomfortable at the same time. Soon, she can't make out the way she came anymore, but her goal lies ahead. The convent. Falada is tense, strained, every muscle pent-up and his ears lying almost close to his neck.

"You're doing a good job, boy. I promise you an apple when we get home to the stables," Wilma says, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. It's weird for the forest being so silent, no noise whatsoever except for the ticktack of the hooves and the rattling of the wheels. There _should_ be noise though. It's a goddamn forest.

A sudden crack above Wilma, followed by something dark falling down behind her with a loud thud makes her scream out loud, scaring the horse so much it picks up speed and dashes through the Dark Forest with a loud neigh. Falada is running, running so fast she can hear the cracking of the wheels above stick and stone and she's not sure if the cart will make it. She can't see a thing, can't see the way in front of them and even though she knows horses have a good vision, Wilma doubts Falada won't run into a tree and crash them.

"Stop, Falada! Calm down! Stop!", Wilma yells, pulling the reins toward her small frame with as much power as she can muster. The horse only slows down when they've already reached the edge of the Dark Forest, leaving both animal and rider panting for air to stomach the shock. "Good boy, Falada. Good boy."

Her heart is racing and her breath comes out in small huffs. What the hell was that? It's scared her almost to death! When she turns around to check her cargo, she gasps, her hand covering her mouth in shock. "Oh Dear Lord!"

A man is lying on the sheep's wool, unconscious, bleeding. His face looks as pale as the white wool, which is already drowned in blood from the wounds on his body. The shaft of an arrow is sticking out of his shoulder, the shirt he is wearing ripped and soaked in blood. He looks… dirty, a bit like a scoundrel, maybe a thief. Her gaze rests on the pale features of the sandy blonde stranger who, if she didn't know any better, she would assume had fallen from the sky. He's wounded; he needs help, that's all she registers. Whether he's a good or a bad person (she doesn't know, how should she, but she believes everyone should have a chance before they're put into boxes) would be something to find out. But now, he needs _her_ help or he is going to die from all the blood loss. The wool is destroyed anyway and if she could, Mother Superior would have her head for it. What a good thing the convent doesn't support physical violence though. There are other ways to break a person, to make someone suffer and yes, she's speaking from experience. Wilma bites her lip before she makes a decision. What does she have to lose?

"Forgive me, Lord. Please hang in there, stranger." She whips the reins so the horse would move forward with the words. "Bring us home, Falada, run as fast as you can!"

Xxxxx

The horse dashes up the way between the harvested fields, the convent now a closer approaching dark gray shadow in the distance on top of the hill, with the tall clock tower reaching up so high it was almost as if it were touching the sky. Thunderclouds are drawing closer together and the smell of rain lies in the air. Even though Wilma sends a prayer to heaven for the rain to wait until she's back at the convent, it doesn't seem to reach the Lord in time. She's passed the wheat fields now, reached the lavender fields, which lead up in lines to the convent. They look beautiful in summer, but now that it's so dark, the purple gray plants give Wilma a spine-chilling feeling. A raindrop hits her right on the head, another one splashes onto her arm and the others follow. Thick and wet and hard they pour down on her, hit her skin like little pebbles and soon she's soaked to the bone. The air around Falada is steaming, the view turns worse and worse, but she trusts the horse to bring her home. He's never let her down so far and today won't be the day either. The convent is there, the gray stone holding strong against the storm. It's an old building, has been there for hundreds of years and still provides shelter for the order of the Sacred Heart. No man, no king, no army, no wizard has ever been able to conquer or destroy it. It's surrounded by thick, moss-covered walls, high and impossible to climb. The cathedral is on the North side of the building facing toward the west with the large clock tower. The buildings inside are impossible to make out from the outside, only the roofs of the dormitorium peeking out above the walls. Wilma knows it protects her from the bad things that linger outside and for that she's thankful. Still the convent has never been _home_. Without permission, nobody is allowed to leave and Wilma has more than often seen them turn someone away who was looking for shelter. They wouldn't take everyone in, only the most promising cases. It really depends who is in charge of the gate.

It's a contradiction if she's ever seen one, people like them, members of the convent that prides itself with being a place for everyone who believes in the one Lord keeping others who are looking for help out. _"Inviting people in for shelter or for them to live off our expenses are two different things, Wilma,"_ Mother Superior has once explained to her. Well, just because she accepts it, doesn't mean she has to like it.

Someone must have seen her approach since the tall wooden gate is being pulled open, ready for the horse to storm inside and stop right in the middle of the front entrance next to the abbey. A few of the nuns are already waiting for her, ready to bring the cargo inside into the dry halls quickly.

"Wilma! What in God's name are you… what happened?!" Tinkerbell's high-pitched voice drums through the rain. There's a blonde strand of hair peeking out under her headdress, her friend's own little way of rebellion. Thunder is rolling down on them, silencing every sound of what the blonde says next but as her eyes drift over to the man on the wagon, Wilma knows.

"I found him on the road," Wilma lies quickly, because hell would break loose if she admitted riding through the Dark Forest. "He needs our help, he's bleeding." Nobody is moving; everyone is just standing there staring at her and the cart with the bleeding stranger and blood soaked wool. Wilma frantically looks from one Sister to the other, her eyes stopping on Tinkerbell, pleading. She knows Tink would want to help, but when the entrance door is shoved open, revealing a very agitated looking Mother Superior, it's like her blood freezes in her veins.

"What's the tumult about?! Wilma! You should have been back _before_ sundown. It's almost night. Did you at least bring…" The woman's eyes widen first in surprise, annoyance, then anger. "What is this?! Look at the wool, it's all ruined."

"He needs help, Mother, please. He's wounded, he… he's going to die if we don't take the arrow out and stop the bleeding. _Please let me help him_."

"You have to stop collecting broken things from the road, Wilma. First that horse, then the dog, now a _man_ of all things! What would the Lord say to this?"

Something snaps in the young woman and a wave of confidence overcomes her. "My Lord would not let an innocent man die when there's a chance to help him."

A gasp and indignation goes through the nuns which are standing at the side, watching the scene unfold in front of them. No one would ever dare to answer back like Wilma just has; but then again, Wilma has never been one to be silenced so quickly. Yes, she would obey, would swallow her pride and beg, take any punishment given to her, but she would always push for the things she believes are right.

Mother Superior's eyes wander from her toward the wagon then back to her. Wilma's gaze and determination does not waver and it seems to help. After a mere minute of total silence with the rain pattering down on them, soaking their cloaks, the nun finally gives in.

"Margot, tell Agnes to get a bed in the healing wing ready. It seems like we have a new patient," Mother Superior finally says, taking the weight off Wilma's shoulders. The knot, which has formed in her stomach, loosens. She's ready to help carrying him inside, but Mother Superior clears her throat, tells her to follow her inside and leave the stranger to the others.

Wilma hesitates, knows she's needed as a physician because she's one of the best, but if she disobeys Mother Superior any further, there will be hell to pay. So she swallows her pride, takes one last look at the stranger and follows the nun inside the registry, which is used as a study by the head of the convent. Mother Superior watched her as she sits own behind her desk, folding her hands devoutly on the table. Usually Wilma would be asked to sit down, but it seems like there's no need to bother with such pleasantries today.

"I don't know what to do with you, Wilma. This is the third time this month."

Wilma bows her head down, at least trying to look guilty. "I couldn't leave him there, Mother - I apologize for being late though."

"If you hadn't spent all the time at the young shepherd's cottage you wouldn't be late now. The wool wouldn't be ruined and we wouldn't use costly physic on a stranger who probably won't be able to pay us back."

Wilma's eyes widen at the mention of David's cottage, make her wonder how exactly the nun knows that she's spent time there caring for Ruth. She's wondered for a while now how the head of the convent always seems to be one step ahead of her actions, how she always seems to _know_ these things. "David's mother is sick. She caught pneumonia trying to save _our_ wool from the rain so they could deliver it in time."

"And now it's all ruined and the money we got from the miller for the last crop is wasted. Tell me, Wilma - who is going to provide us with wool for our winter garments now. Do you want to be the one to tell your sisters that they will not get a warm habit for the winter? That some of them will freeze?"

"I volunteer to bring in more firewood and help the woodcutters. Also, we still have the one from last year," Wilma tries to argue, but Mother Superior will have none of it. So she listens, nods and agrees when she's punished with three days abstinence, a week of silence and the night watch in church every night for the rest of the month starting today. It could be worse, she tells herself, the stranger could be dead.

Wilma listens to it all trying not to make a face at the expected punishment. She hasn't eaten all day since breakfast, so the three days will now be four, but it's fine, she can take it. Maybe a fasting cure isn't so bad...

"It makes me wonder…"

The young woman looks up at her superior, an uneasy feeling spreading in her chest. "You said you found him on the road."

"Yes, Mother."

"Where was that again?"

"At… the crossing of the Lonely Meadow."

The nun hums, leaning back in her chair and watching the younger one with hawk eyes.

"It just makes me wonder how you did it. Pulling him up onto the wagon I mean. He's not the lightest example of a man, so it must have been some effort."

"I'm stronger than I look."

"Of that I have no doubt. I just find it interesting how you managed all that - without fouling your cloak."

She knows. And Wilma knows she knows that she didn't find the man on the road but she can't make a sound. All she receives from Mother Superior is a disapproving glance. "You may leave now, Wilma. And Abbot Frollo will be expecting your confession come Sunday."

A shudder runs down her back at the mentioning of the Abbot. Wilma turns around and leaves the registry, closes the door without taking another look back at Mother Superior before she runs as quickly and quietly as possible down the hall, through the cloister and the refectory until she enters the medical chambers, her heart still pounding crazily in her chest.

It's quiet in there apart from someone speaking a prayer. Tinkerbell. The blonde looks up from her place in front of the stranger's bed, her eyebrows rising up in curiosity as Wilma enters.

"How is he?"

"He's unconscious, but he will survive. You're lucky, Wilma. If you'd brought him here any later, he would be bargaining for heaven or hell with Petrus now."

Wilma rolls her eyes, wonders why there even is a thing called hell if their God is so forgiving, then thanks Tinkerbell, the closest thing she has to a friend here and approaches the bed of the stranger. He is going to be okay. Thankfully.

Someone has cleaned his face and body from the blood and dirt and he almost looks peaceful. His chest is bare, bandaged with white cloths, rising up and down with every breath he takes in. It's defined muscles and a patch of dark blond hair and despite the fact she's seen a man's naked chest hundreds of times, it makes her cheeks flush and stomach tingle. She shouldn't be ogling him like this, should feel ashamed, but Tinkerbell's giggle makes her eyes shift upward.

"He is a rather well formed example of the male species."

"Go wash your mouth with holy water," Wilma answers, annoyed, and blows out a huff of breath when Tinkerbell answers that she should do the same thing with her eyes. They laugh for a moment, enjoying the banter between them before Tinkerbell gets up onto the other side of the bed.

She smiles, checks the temperature of his forehead with her hand. It's warm but not something she would consider dangerous. Her fingers trace down his forehead and cheek until they land on the side of his neck to check his pulse. It's not as strong as it should be, but there. He will make it. She saved his life. A smile forms on her lips as she rests her fingertips on his healthy shoulder for a moment.

She's not counting on the man suddenly opening his eyes, his head twitching around in panic, taking in his surroundings. He groans in pain, lets out a hiss when he wants to get up but Tinkerbell and Wilma press him back down.

"It's okay. You're okay, you're safe!" Wilma explains, her voice calm, trying to make eye contact. It's not the first time she has a patient waking up in panic but it's the first time someone with a wound like his actually wakes up so soon after surgery. "Look at me."

He's panting now but does as he is told, his sea blue eyes boring into hers. A cold shudder runs down her back, her hands flinching away from his skin as if she's just been burned. These eyes. These eyes, she… Her head starts spinning, a wave of heat following the cold shudder as a headache begins to settle in, the man's eyes never leaving hers.

He stares at her, mouth open in shock, his hand reaching out for her, but the sudden pain makes him yelp out loud. Little drops of sweat are forming on his forehead, his breathing is frantic.

"His wound is bleeding again," Tinkerbell says.

"Re…"

"He's trying to say something, Tinkerbell." Her head is throbbing now, one of the worst headaches she's ever had. Taking a deep breath, Wilma takes a step closer, leaning slightly forward, their eyes still locked.

"Say it again, Sir."

"Re… Regina." His eyes roll back, leaving him unconscious.

Wilma and Tinkerbell jump into action, patching up his wound anew and doing everything to stop his bleeding. Her headache is growing worse, the name the stranger has just said spinning in her mind forward and backward. Regina. Regina, Regina, Regina.

"Wilma!" Tinkerbell's voice is dull in her ears, drowned by the other noises in her head. Fire, she's seeing fire, can feel the heat against her skin, can hear people scream and metal clash, a wall opening out of nowhere and the name. Regina. It's too much, too much to handle for her and she doesn't know what's happening, screams, tells the devil to let go of her, to release her mind from the torture he's put her under, but it doesn't stop. She tries to get a hold on something, anything, but most of all reality, but she falls. All that follows is darkness and the faint voice of Tinkerbell calling for her.


End file.
